A few things you would like, if you were me:

• Dancing with old men at weddings
• Sourdough toast
• Watching jellyfish swim
• Children who whisper when they�re talking to small babies
• The feeling of breath on the neck
• Red winged blackbirds
• Sotto voce
• Slicing fresh ginger
• When little kids jump, how they sometimes do this thing with their arms. They spread them like wings, like they’re about to take off.

I am sitting on the cushy table at the gynecologist’s office. I know the table is cushy because there is nothing between me and the table. That is, nothing but a thin sheet of paper that crinkles when I shift. I have another such sheet draped awkwardly across my lap.

It feels odd sitting like this, in my long-sleeved shirt, my earrings, my lip gloss, and my paper lap throw. Of course, I’ve been here before, and I like my nurse practitioner. Her demeanor suggests that the gals do this kind of thing all the time, sit around with no pants on making chitchat about how the writing is coming, and whether this breakfast place is preferable to that.

She has her back to me for a few moments, checking my chart, and then she turns to me suddenly with a surprised face.

Are you humming?

What?

Were you just humming? Just now?

I guess I was.

Is that a nervous thing?

No. I talk when I’m nervous.

Do you hum a lot?

All the time, I guess. I don’t usually realize I’m doing it.

Huh. That’s kind of nice.

Thanks.

Through this whole disaster, I�ve only been able think in slow motion when my mind turns to all the suffering. Reports kept saying, �It�s worse than anyone knows, it�s worse than anyone knows.� But none of them were explaining how, what that meant.

Today, watching Oprah Winfrey, I saw a police officer break down. He said that inside the Superdome, people were raping babies. The police, out-armed and outnumbered by street gangs inside, were powerless to stop them. Children couldn�t go into the bathrooms because predators were waiting there, raping them, even killing them. There was gunfire inside the shelter. With no electricity and no windows, it was dark inside, save for a few small skylights hundreds of feet up. I finally understand.

To our survivors, I am so sorry. We should have been there sooner. Once the storm passed, we should have protected you from further harm. We owe deep gratitude to those nearby who did what they could without adequate resources.

Americans pride ourselves on taking care of our own. Until now, it has felt as though our capacity to do that in times of crisis was limitless. It has been difficult to accept our vulnerability, and to admit that we need help, just like any other country visited by grave disaster. Thank you to all of the countries who have offered that help, especially those of you who have put aside political differences to do so.

Thank you Canada, Cuba, Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Dominica, Russia, France, Japan, China, El Salvador, Israel, Paraguay, the U.K., the United Arab Emirates, the Netherlands, Honduras, Germany, Venezuela, Jamaica, Australia, Switzerland, Greece, Hungary, Columbia, The Dominican Republic, Mexico, South Korea, New Zealand, Guatemala, Belgium, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Italy, Guyana, Indonesia, Austria, Lithuania, Spain, Norway, and the Bahamas. We’re humbled by your compassion.

A young nun was recently reprimanded for dancing indecorously with a missionary during Catholic World Youth Day. According to the article, a local newspaper “showed pictures of a dancing Johanne Vertommen being held up in the air by the missionary, and then clinging to him with her legs wrapped around his body.”

Refreshing, no? I think we can safely call this progress.

The French have vending machines full of books.

(Thanks, Kayla.)